


Daisy

by Hello_Spikey



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (Comics), Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Gen, Vampire Slayer(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-17
Updated: 2009-03-17
Packaged: 2019-06-15 13:07:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15413598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hello_Spikey/pseuds/Hello_Spikey
Summary: A new recruit shows up at Slayer Central





	Daisy

**Author's Note:**

> Let's see if you can guess what kinda annoys me about the Slayers in the comic books after reading this little ficlet. ;)
> 
> Warnings: Gen fic, nothing bad happens.

Buffy strode down the halls of Slayer headquarters. “Andrew! I need…”

Andrew held up papers in his hands, defensively. “No, I have to meet a new recruit. She’s supposed to be here, like, now.”

“I didn’t even tell you what I wanted.”

“Nothing takes priority over new slayers, mon capitan. Capitana?” Andrew waved his papers and took off toward the main entrance. “They’re getting harder and harder to locate. Our calculations indicate a full 14% of all called slayers are still unknown.”

“Hey, it’s cool. I’ll come with you. Give the new girl the pep talk from General Buffy.”

Andrew glanced warily as Buffy fell into step beside him, ponytail bobbing jauntily. “I can tell this is going to be a ‘no’.”

She sighed, turning pleading eyes, “Andrew!”

His papers were clutched, shield-like, to his chest. “You’re only asking me because this is something Giles would say no to and I’ll be caught in the middle. Again.”

“Girls have needs, Andrew. And Giles’ definition of ‘supplies’ is sorely lacking…”

The massive oak door creaked open in front of them and a tremulous voice called, “Hello? Is anybody home? Is this the, uh…” A woman entered, obviously on the far side of sixty, with grey roots showing on her short black hair, she was heavyset, and pushed the massive door aside easily with her hip as she unfolded a tightly-creased note. She glanced up, blinked owlishly behind her large glasses and raised a finger to point at Andrew. “You! You’re the nice young man in the commercial!”

“I told you running ads was a dumb idea,” Buffy muttered under her breath. She stepped in front of Andrew. “This is a private school, ma’am. Where were you trying to get to?”

The woman held out her unfolded note. “I was told to find a Mr. Wells? Andrew Wells? I knew the directions were wrong. I mean, this is a castle!”

She said it like they might not have noticed. Buffy took the note and swallowed hard. On it was Andrew’s name, phone number, and their address.

“Uh…” She turned to Andrew.

Andrew peered at the old woman. “Daisy Slavocic?”

The old woman peered warily. “Mr. Wells?”

“Yes, I’m Andrew Wells. I… we were expecting someone younger.” He extended his hand, smiling warmly.

The woman visibly relaxed, then seized Andrew’s hand, pumping hard. “Oh thank GAHD. Thank you so much for the money to fly here, and for helping me with my problem. I thought I was going mad. I mean, I worked for fifty years at General Electric,” she pronounced it “Elec-Rick”, “and never saw anything like this. And I thought I’d never find youse. In Scotland! You know, it’s funny? I always told my Artie I wanted to go to Europe.”

“Uh, why don’t we come into the receiving parlor?” Andrew wriggled his hand from the tight grip with a small whimper and took a few hurried steps back.

“Oh gahd. I hurt you, didn’t I? It’s just like with my Artie. Youse gotta do something for me, or I’ll never be able to go back to how things were!”

Buffy raised both eyebrows, meeting Andrews eyes over the old woman’s head, and mouthed, “Slayer?”

Andrew shrugged, and led the way – rather quickly – to the receiving parlor.

Her quest for a makeup and hair spray budget forgotten, Buffy took the woman’s elbow to help her along, though she seemed to be walking sturdily enough. “You… have a problem?”

“So, it all started a couple months ago,” Daisy said, cheerful over the prospect of sharing her story. “My Artie has a bad hip, but he’s always insisting on doing things himself, and the light bulb in the living room was out and there was Artie, trying to get his walker up the step-ladder! I said, ‘Artie. I worked at General Elecrick fifty years, I can change a light bulb!’ But you know men. He was liable to break his hip again so I grabbed for the light bulb, and…” she reached into her coat pocket and drew out a square of muslin. “Oh, Artie!” She dabbed her eyes, stopped walking, and held out her handkerchief, which was now trembling. “It broke! Right in my hand, like it weren’t nothing, and I’d hardly squeezed. And Artie’s hand! I broke my Artie’s hand! Just reaching for a light bulb!”

There was more dabbing with the handkerchief. Buffy felt awkward. “Is he all right?”

Daisy nodded, and sniffled. “But not as all right as me. Look at that!” She moved her hanky to her left hand and stuck her right out. “Look. Not a scratch. I had a piece of glass this big,” she held her forefinger and thumb well apart, "stuck all the way in there. I pulled it out, and by the time we got to the emergency room, it wasn't nothing but a scratch. Artie, poor Artie's still in a cast."

“Oh,” Buffy said, her “Old people have brittle bones” theory fading.

"I used to _make_ light bulbs. Fifty years. I never broke one on accident."

Andrew re-appeared at the door to the parlor. “Please come in, Mrs. Slavacic, and have a seat. We have a lot to tell you, about what’s happened to you, and where we go from here.”

END

**Author's Note:**

> So, yeah: what, do women "lose" their potential at 18?? Or what?  
> Also, I thought my Grandma would make an AWESOME slayer, so I based Daisy on her.


End file.
